beverly & richie
Right, of course that's where you were meant to keep cigarettes -- unless you were Richie. Who, reasonably, just kept his in the pocket of his coat.
He lit his own before stowing away his lighter and exhaling and then moving to lean up against the siding of the house beside the door. The noise from inside was sort of making the walls vibrate, and Richie was sort of into it. It made him feel younger, somehow. Not that he'd ever really gotten over loud music.
His fingers tapped at the end of his smoke and he considered the question for a moment, though it was clear he was fighting a pretty losing battle with a stupidly fond smile. "It kinda fuckin' is," he said, which was true as anything. Sometimes being happy felt really, really easy. Sometimes.